Page 118 of Broken Dream
Angie
So Aunt Mel knows Jason.
I really wanted to confide in her about what I’m feeling for him and then also talk to her about Ralph and his threats.
But now that she knows Jason?
God, what to do?
She checks her watch. “I have an hour before I need to leave for the airport. What did you need to talk to me about, Angie?”
I draw a breath. “It’s kind of difficult to talk about.”
We head toward the elevators. I hold my breath but then let it out slowly when I see that Jason has already descended.
Thank God.
As much as I love being in his presence, right now is not the best time.
“We can grab a snack,” Aunt Mel says.
I pat my stomach. “I’m still full from breakfast. But maybe a cup of coffee. There’s a shop on the first floor of the hospital.”
She laughs. “Oh, I know that. I spent a lot of time at this hospital in my day. I was on the board for a long time, and I still come in for special consultations, like I did today.”
“So what’s going on?” I ask. “What did you need to talk to Dr. Lansing about?”
She blinks. “Like I told you, just some board business.”
“I didn’t realize Ja— Dr. Lansing was on the board.”
“No, he’s not.” She looks at me, but her eyes are not meeting mine. “He’s just doing some consulting, like I am.”
Aunt Mel is stuck between a rock and a hard place. She told me earlier that she was seeing a patient about an experimental procedure, making sure his past trauma wouldn’t interfere with his recovery. Thanks to my internet snooping, I now know the details of said trauma.
She knows that she told me that information, and now she knows that I’m acquainted with the man who walked out of the office with her. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.
But she doesn’t want to violate doctor-patient confidentiality any more than she already indirectly has, so I’ll do her a favor and lie through my teeth.
“I guess that makes sense. He’s a professor at the medical school associated with the hospital, and he’s a former surgeon who probably worked here.”
We descend to the first floor, and when the doors open, we head straight toward the coffee shop.
“What would you like?” Aunt Mel asks. “My treat.”
“Black coff— No. You know what? I’ll have a skinny mocha.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Skinny? You could use a little more meat on your bones.”
“Okay. A regular mocha, then.” I’m never one to worry about my weight. All of us Steels seem to have the metabolisms of teenage boys.
Aunt Mel orders my mocha and a latte for herself, and we take a seat at one of the tables.
“So,” she begins, “what can I do for you?”
I have to come up with something. I can hardly talk to her about Jason now that I’ve connected the dots.
Then again, this is Aunt Melanie. I talk to her about everything. I talked to her more than I talked to my own mother growing up. She and I have always been close, and she’s the reason I want to go into psychiatry.
